


Midnight Visitor

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-05-10 04:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Two days after Same Time, Same Place Buffy gets a visitor. G





	Midnight Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Authors: Tequila Sunrise and Tigerwolf

Buffy flopped to the couch with a sigh. Two days after Willow's return, Dawn's paralysis, patrol, and counseling some REALLY weird kids (Didn't they have problems she understood?? Like... how to avert apocalypses. She could write a BOOK on that one). Was there ANYTHING she couldn't do?? Yeah. Cook herself dinner and haul her tired butt upstairs to bed. Right. Couch it was. Dawn was already asleep,well, Buffy assumed she was from the faint chainsaw sound from the upstairs, and Xander and Willow had found it appropriate to bond with each other that night.

Meanwhile, on the front porch of 1630 Ravello Drive...

Stare at the door. Stare at it long enough, and the key will work. Except that it isn't a key anymore. That, is a lighter. Plan B. Stare at the- No, wait. Already tried that. Kick the door in? No. Bad. Knock? Ah! That was it. Spike knocked softly on the front door. No answer. But she was there. She had to be there. Her scent went in the door. It had to have taken her with it. Knocked again. Harder. Oops. Door cracked. Or was that crack there before?

Buffy stirred from the couch abruptly. Oh, God. Willow. Xander. Anya. Dawn. No. Dawn was safe. Unlocked the door, swung it open. "Wha-?"

Cordial. Be cordial. Like cherries. Ooh. Cordial cherries are good. And with the juicy middle... Oh. Forgot where he was for a moment. Cordial. Civil. Be good. One word. "Buffy."

Looked at him, a cautiously patient look on her face. "Hey, Spike."

He glanced over her shoulder. "Red okay now?" Don't concentrate on the voices. They do not matter. Focus, damn you.

"Re-" Oh.... "Willow's gonna be fine, Spike. Her stomach is just a little-" she cast a glance over her shoulder. What was he looking at? "Um... A little torn up."

"Bleeding?" No! BAD SPIKE! "Uh.. I mean.. she's okay then. Good. That's good." Yeah. Like you. Be good. Be good. Ooh. That picture is new.

"Um... bleeding a little yeah." She fidgeted. His stare was disconcerting these days. "Um... Thank you... for... ya know... the trail-thingy."

He shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing. We've.. I mean.. I've got no problems, really. No problems at all. Found it fast, didn't I? I did good?" His eyes had been jumping all around, but focused on her at the last sentence. "Please say I did good? I did my best. My best isn't good enough, though. Never has been. William the Bloody Screw Up. Me. That's me." A moment of lucidity, and he realized that he'd been babbling. Snapped his mouth shut. Quietly. "Sorry."

"No. No." Made her voice a little more soothing. "You did fine. Good. You did very good."

He kind of grinned at her. Looked behind himself. Fidigited a little. Looked back. "I'll go now. They want me to go now."

"Wh-who wants you to go now??" Looked into the shadows behind him

"They do." As if she could see what he saw. He shook his head. "But I don't want to." Made a quiet growl at the shadows outside. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Her hand reached out, tugged him to the safety of the house. "Well, maybe they can wait, huh?"

He snorted at the door as she closed it. "They won't come in here. Here's safe." Looked at her. "You won't let them in, right? It's safe for me. For us. Right?"

Nodded, had no idea what he was talking about. She cast a look around the living room quickly. Good. No more sizzling cross business. "Right. Only people invited can come in."

He nodded. "Right. And I'm invited. They aren't." Made a face at the door. Cocked his head, then looked back at her. "Why am I invited? I'm not a person, you know. Thing. Bad, evil thing. They all say it. Shouting at me all the time. So I can't forget. Never forget. Have to be sorry." He sat on the couch and pressed a palm to his forehead. "They're a headache again. At least once a day a headache."

She walked to the kitchen, feeling sort of dazed, but confident she could leave him there for a moment. Came back with a glass of water and some aspirin. Handed them to him. "I... I don't know if these help."

He looked at the pills. "Little white capsules." Looked up. "These knock you out? I had some once, army guys stuffed 'em in me, that knocked me out." Considered the pills again. "But these're smaller." Looked up. "It'll hurt if I eat them?"

She sat on the coffee table in front of him. "You don't eat them. You put 'em in the back of your mouth, then take a drink of water, and swallow them."

"Oh." Follow instructions. He could do that. Following instructions was good. He was good. Swallow now before you choke. Ah. Swallowed. Cocked his head, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Headache's still here."

Moved his hands to his lap. "It'll take a little bit of time."

His hand reached and touched hers as she withdrew, then jerked back. "Sorry. Too much touching. Didn't mean to touch." He chewed his bottom lip, a gesture of hers that he was unconciously imitating. Cocked his head. "They're gone. Or at least they shut up." He sighed. "They never shut up. Thank you."

She patted his hand a few times, before folding her hands in her own lap. "You're welcome. Why don't you come in the kitchen with me?"

Looked up, glanced to the kitchen. "Okay." He stood up slowly, bones popping a little. He glanced down at his knees. "Shut up. Don't you start now." Looked at her. "Sorry. That was rude. I didn't mean to be rude."

Shook her head. "It's ok." Walked to the kitchen, feeling like she was babysitting, almost. Pulled out a stool. "Why don't you sit while I make some dinner." Thought crossed her mind. "Have you had dinner?"

He sat on the stool, and glanced around the kitchen. "No. I rarely eat. It's not a good thing. Can't be normal, you know. And it doesn't feel good anymore. The cows don't know, you know. What happens to them. They don't give permission." Laughed quietly, that semi insane sound. "But how would a cow sign a permission slip? They have hooves, you know. Like this." He held up a hand, and made a fist, then split the middle fingers apart. "Well, not exactly. But close."

Nodded. "Very close." Looked at his gaunt face. Had to have blood. Had to. Opened the fridge. Nope. Not a drop. Sighed. Swung the freezer door open. Dug. Put some stuff on the counter. Dug some more.

"You're letting the air out."

Smiled in triumph. Ha! One lonely little bag in the back. "Mmm-hmmm..." she mumbled. Tore it open and pulled out a mug.

"The cheese will get lonely on the counter." He was staring at a package of frozen shredded cheese. Muttered, "Behold the power, of cheese."

She squished the contents into it, noting how it really just looked like DARK red kool-aid slushies. Shoved it in the microwave. She smiled, and shoved the contents back in the freezer. "There. Not lonely now are they?"

He smiled for an instant. "They've got friends. Like you. Lucky cheese." He was using the tip of one finger to trace patterns in the condensation on the counter, muttering something. "She hates me. She hates me. I knew it would, but it hurts."

She leaned against the counter. "Who?"

Kept doodling in the condensation. He was either writing, or drawing, and it wasn't clear which. "Niblet."

The blood beeped, but there were still chunks of ice in it. Shoved it in for another two minutes. "Um... I don't- I don't think she hates you."

"She's just... protecting what's hers."

He nodded a little, picked up a spoon that had been laying on the counter, played with it. "I don't want to wake up on fire. It's hard to sleep as it is, you know."

Nodded. "I'm sure you won't." It seemed important to him, so... "You've been good."

He looked up at her. "Really? I tried. It's hard with the changer yapping at me. Like a little dog. Only scarier. It's never the same twice."

She nodded sympathetically, pulled the now warm blood from the microwave. Set it in front of him.

He stared at it, licked his lips, and his stomach growled auditably. "Should I eat now?" Looked at her. "Don't watch. Please. It's.. hard to do.. watching. Embarrassing, you know. Like eating a mushroom. One side makes you get big, and one makes you small. I feel small now."

She nodded again. Placate the little one. "Go ahead. Eat now. I'll make a sandwich on this counter here, ok?" Turned her back, started gathering her ingredients, constructing her dinner.

The moment he was sure that neither Buffy, nor anyone he couldn't see was watching, he seized the mug and drained it quickly, gulping. Sighed as the rumbling in his stomach was quiet now. That was good. Ooh! And headache is gone. That's also good. He licked his lips, and wiped his mouth on his arm. Get rid of the evidence. Reflex. Began watching Buffy. When her arms moved, her shirt moved. Like a mast on a ship. Back and forth, and back and forth, and up and down and... Ooh. Dizzy. Getting dizzy. Spoon. Watch the spoon. No reflection. A floating spoon. Suddenly, that seemed hysterical. He laughed quietly at the spoon.

Buffy turned, sandwich in hand. Gave him a little smile. "What's funny?"

He held up the spoon. "When I hold it, you can't see why it's up. It's a flying spoon. Super spoon. A new comic book idea." Chuckled again.

Chuckled, because it was deranged. "How's your head?"

"Fine, now. The white things helped. They killed the headache." Cocked his head. "You're being nice, now. I'm sorry I hit you earlier. The other day, with Anya. Sorry I hit her, too. I didn't want them to know. Not then. Maybe not ever." Sighed. He was being a little more lucid now. "So, I'm sorry. And the guy? The guy that was a worm? He's alright, right? I didn't kill him. Please tell me I didn't kill him."

Bit her lip. Critical condition wasn't dead, right? "He's gonna be fine."

Spike sighed. "Good." Shook his head. "I didn't know he was gonna be human. I wouldn't have tried the impale him if I'd known."

"I know. We know." Sighed. Her feet hurt. "Wanna go back to the living room?"

Stood up. "Yeah. Actually, I should leave." Shook his head again. "I don't even know why I came here tonight. I feel bad about... everything, you know. Don't want.." Looked at the plate that her sandwich had been on, and at his empty mug. "Didn't come expectin' a dinner party. Should've dressed better." Motioned to his blue shirt. "Maybe a jacket. Or a tie." Cocked his head. "Do I even have a tie?"

"Tee-shirts are always ok here, so it doesn't matter." She didn't want to abandon him to the outside world just yet. It seemed too hard for him to deal. "Jay Leno's on TV."

"He's got a big chin." Matter-of-factly. Chuckled, then ducked his head. "I'm sorry I'm insane, Buffy. It's hard to make sense. To make things make sense. It's all right in my head, but when it comes out my mouth, it's like..." Shrugged. "Upsidedown and backwards. Like Alice In Wonderland."

Nodded. "Hey. Craziness. So normal here it's boring."

He went into the living room, and sat on the couch. "Yeah. I know. Used to live with Dru, remember? That's how I know I'm insane. I know we're inside, and that it's night, but I just saw Warren outside, and it was sunny." Shook his head again. "Doesn't make any sense."

Her body almost started. No. Dead. Warren's dead. Willow- No. Leno. Leno. Flipped on theTV. Flopped in one corner of the couch. "No it doesn't."

"And yesterday he was Dru, and before that Glory. He's them, they're him. Followin' me." Quietly. "They're in the basement. One at a time. All of them. The Master, Dru, Adam, Glory, Warren. They're haunting me. Half the time, they won't let me leave."

Muted the TV. "Won't....Let you?"

"Hurt me. Cuts and brusies. Say I deserve it. I know I do. I'd do it myself, but I'm not strong enough." He was wringing his hands, obviously nervous, if not outright scared. "They yell at me. Tell me how horrible I am. Glory.. She talks about how she's gonna kill all of you, make me watch. And then torture me again, for fun..." Licked his lips. Tried to focus on the TV.

"She's gone Spike. All of them. Gone. The Master, Glory, Adam, Warren. They're gone."

He pulled the neck of his shirt down, showing barely healed cuts, some deep enough that when they'd been fresh they might've reached the breastbone. "They're real to me."

She was kneeling on the cushion beside him, fingers brushing them. "Oh my God."

He jerked back, hissing in pain. "Hey! Not with the touching. It hurts, you know."

She pulled her hand back quickly. "Sorry."

He shrugged, and let the shirt cover them again. "That's why I've got to go back. Every time I leave, they're mad. Hurts worse when I come back. And I have to go back. It's my place. My home now."

"Why don't you get another home?" Quiet tone. Soothing.

He ducked his head. "I can't. They'll just find me again. And it'll be worse. Maybe lower, deeper this time. Already been gone too long. I'm gonna pay for this." His tone was scared, but also accepting. This was the way things were now.

"Spike..." Still, her quiet voice. He still wasn't turning on all the lights upstairs. "The first time I came, you were hurting youself. Remember?"

He looked up. "Wasn't finished. I know. I didn't get it out. I'm sorry."

Shook her head. "Are you sure..." Tried to phrase it correctly. "Are you sure you don't still hurt yourself?"

He cocked his head. "I was trying to get the monster out before. I stopped, cause I couldn't find where it was, exactly." Took a deep breath. "They came later. And they didn't want to help. Only to hurt. Make it burn worse. Make me scream. And they did. And I can't stop them. I try to tell them. Tell them that I'm helping you, that you aren't mad, that I won't hurt anymore. But they don't listen. They punish me anyway. Even though I'm bein' good. I am being good. You said so."

She cast around in her mind for something to do. She nodded at his defensive tone. "You're being good." Sighed. She'd deal with Dawn in the morning. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower." He needed to wash.

Big eyes. "In the bathroom? I should leave, I should go. Not there. Can't go in there-" Babbling/ranting now.

She ran a hand over his slightly matted hair, trying to still his thrashing, jumpy movements. She couldn't really afford the renovations to the bathroom, but it had been needed. And it had been done. "Different bathroom."

He stopped moving. "Different? I broke the shelves." Looked at her, and chewed his lip. "You're sure? Not at all bad? Cause if I'm gonna be good, I can't be in bad places. Where bad things happen."

Shook her head. "Not bad. When you're done, I want you to close all the curtains in my old room, and sleep in there. Leave the clothes by the door. I'll do a load tonight. I have to have extra sweat pants in the closet."

He looked at her, and gave a quick nod, going upstairs, moving into the bathroom as if something was going to jump out at him. A few moments later, a shirt, and a pair of jeans came out the door to pile in the hall, and there was the sound of water running.

She rubbed her hands over her face as she took up the clothes, made her way to the basement, just putting a whole load in with his. No sense in wasting water.

Upstairs, he finished his shower. Went across the hall in a towel, and found the sweat pants that Buffy'd been talking about. Ah. Good. This was good. He was good. He listened to her. Payed attention. It was worth a gold star. Now. What was next? Go to room. Buffy's old room? Old room? He sniffed around. Didn't smell like her anymore. Meant he'd be alone. Didn't want to be alone. Sniffed in the hall, and went into the master bedroom. Ah. This was Buffy's room. Oh look. Pig. He picked up Mr. Gordo and sniffed at him. Yes. This was Buffy's pig. He liked Buffy's pig. He stretched out on the floor, next to the bed, and tugged the comforter off the bed and hid under it. As always, the warmth of a shower made him sleepy. Within moments, he was sound asleep, under the comforter, clutching Mr. Gordo.

Buffy trudged up the stairs, turned into her old room. Shit. He wasn't in there. He better not have gone back to the school. Not tonight. With no clothes. She went in her own room to get shoes to look for him. Paused. Looked again.

The comforter on her bed was pulled halfway off, almost tenting off about two feet from the side of the bed. A pale hand was visible. She pulled the corner of the blanket up. Spike, asleep, looking flushed from the shower and meal, wearing a pair of her old sweat pants, curled around... Mr.Gordo? Well. Mr. Gordo. She couldn't make him move. It wasn't in her. She slid the rest of the blanket off the bed, letting it pool around him. Grabbed the spare at the foot of the bed, and laid down, covering herself up. They would deal with this tomorrow. She would go back to the school with him tomorrow night, and make sure he was wrong, and find some way to fix him. Till then, all she could do was sleep. And for some reason, knowing that Spike was safe, and in the house, made her rest easier.

As for Spike, this was the first night in six months that he didn't have any nightmares. All thanks the presence of Buffy, and to a little, pink friend. Goodnight, Mr. Gordo.

The End


End file.
